She's Always The Woman to Me
by The-British-Lady
Summary: This is a story about what happened when Sherlock rescued Irene from the Karachi prison. Rated M for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Most of the first chapter is dialogue that belongs to the creators of **_**Sherlock. **_**It is the scene at the end of **_**A Scandal in Belgravia**_**. **

**Chapter 1**

Sherlock was seated at the kitchen table at 221B staring through his microscope. He heard the door downstairs open and close, a pair of footsteps could be heard. Sherlock instantly recognized the footsteps belonging to John who treaded up the stairs with a slow light walk in his step.

"Clearly you have news?" Sherlock asked without looking away from the microscope as he changed slides. John had just walked in the kitchen and was holding the file for the Irene Adler case he had just received from Mycroft.

John cleared his throat as he contemplated how best to approach the subject.

Sherlock continued, "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring." He continued looking through his microscope, not glancing as John walked into the kitchen.

"Hi. Err, no, it's, um…It's about Irene Adler." John shuffled nervously, unsure of how Sherlock would react to the topic. When it concerned The Woman, as Sherlock called her, there was no predicting how the conversation would result. Sometimes, John believed Sherlock hated Adler. Other times, John believed Sherlock admired her. It was utterly confusing for John, but then again, Sherlock Holmes was a confusing man to figure out.

Sherlock finally looked up from his microscope at the mention of the Woman. His face was unreadable but John detected a hint of interest if it made Sherlock look away from his science equipment. "Oh? Something happened?"

"No, she's err…I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call."

Sherlock stood up from his position at the table and walked towards John. "Is she back in London?"

"No. She's err…" John gazed at the floor for a long moment trying to decide what to say to Sherlock. He had to say something quickly or else Sherlock would suspect that John was hiding something. John raised his eyes to Sherlock's. Sherlock slightly frowned back at him. "She's in America."

"America?" Sherlock exclaimed waiting for an explanation.

"Mmm-hmm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Don't know how she swung it, but, err, well, you know."

"I know what?" Sherlock inquired.

"Well, you won't be able to see her again."

Sherlock turned away from facing John and back to his microscope, "Why would I want to see her again?"

John smiled at Sherlock's behavior. Of course he would reply with another question. "Didn't say you did."

Sherlock took a second to glance at the bag in John's hands, "Is that her file?"

"Yes. I was just going to take it back to Mycroft." John extended the file towards Sherlock, "Do you want to…?"

"No," Sherlock replied curtly as he changed a slide.

"Hmm…Listen, actually-"

"Oh, but I will have the camera phone, though." Sherlock interrupted, holding out his arm to receive it without lifting his gaze from his work."

"There's nothing on it any more. It's been stripped"_ Why would he want Irene's empty camera phone for?_ John thought.

"I know, but I…" Sherlock paused for a long moment, "…I'll still have it."

John could see Sherlock desired the object, but for what purpose, he knew not. Could it be sentiment? But no, this was Sherlock. Sherlock did not care about sentiment. "I've gotta give this back to Mycroft. You can't keep it."

Sherlock chose not to reply but he kept his hand extended and his eyes on the microscope.

"Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft. It's the government's now. I couldn't even give-"

"Please."

John looks at Sherlock wondering what to do. It was the first time he heard Sherlock plead for an object that held obvious sentimental value, John knew it now. Sherlock wanted the camera phone because it was the Woman's. A momentum of the Woman to remember her by?

John reached into the plastic bag, took out the camera phone, and gently placed it in Sherlock's hand. Sherlock slowly closed his long fingers around it and put the phone in his trouser pocket. His hand shot back up to the microscope. "Thank you."

John nodded; he raised the bag containing the file, "Well, I'd better take this back."

"Yes." Sherlock agreed without looking from the microscope.

John turns to walk out onto the landing, but he paused before he went downstairs. He wondered whether he should ask Sherlock the question that has come to his mind.

The answer could confirm if what Mycroft had said was true. John turned around and walked back into the kitchen; Sherlock still did not lift his eyes from the microscope.

"Did she ever text you again, after…all that?"

Sherlock paused for a moment, switching slides before he answered, "Once…a few months ago."

Feeling eager for the answer, John asked, "What did she say?"

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."

"Huh…" John nodded thoughtfully. That confirmed it then. Mycroft had told John the truth. Irene Adler really was beheaded by a terrorist cell in Karachi. He felt again a slight pang of sadness, knowing that the only woman his friend had ever "seemed" to have taken an interest in was now dead. He shrugged it off and continued back down the stairs to meet with Mycroft.

As soon as John was out of sight, Sherlock raised his head from the microscope and looked across the room. He reached for his own phone that was placed on the table beside the microscope. He picked it up and walked into the living room as he scrolled through the messages he saved sent by The Woman, all of which he has kept. He has re-read them many times during these past months. Imagining her seductive voice speak as he read them.

_I'm not hungry, let's have dinner._

_Bored in a hotel. Join me. Let's have dinner._

_John's blog is HILARIOUS. I think he likes you more than I do. Let's have dinner._

_I can see tower bridge and the moon from my room. Work out where I am and join me._

_I saw you in the street today. You didn't see me._

_You do know that hat actually suits you, don't you?_

_Oh for God's sake. Let's have dinner._

_I like your funny hat._

_I'm in Egypt talking to an idiot. Get on a plane, let's have dinner._

_You look sexy on Crimewatch._

_Even you have to eat. Let's have dinner._

_BBC1 right now. You'll laugh._

_I'm thinking of sending you a Christmas present._

_Mantelpiece_

_I'm not dead. Let's have dinner._

Then there was the one he sent to her, _Happy New Year_

At the bottom of the list was the very last text he received from The Woman. It said:

_Goodbye Mr. Holmes_

Reaching the living room window, he looked down at that final message for a long time before lifting his minty green eyes and gazing out at the pouring rain which washed down Baker Street…and he smiled to himself as he thought back to the events that took place three months ago in a city named Karachi.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Here is Chapter 2. Please review! Any corrections or things that need to be improved on are welcome.**

**Chapter 2**

It was dark in the prison cell. The only light source was the blue ray of moonlight that streamed through the barred window of the cell. Surprisingly the temperature was dreadfully cold; during the daytime, temperatures reached well beyond the one-hundreds. But always at night, many of the female prisoners were forced to huddle together in the corner of the dank and dirty cell to try and keep warm. Many of the poor women were in terrible states of health. Starved, dehydrated, and abused were common conditions to those who ended up in a Karachi prison cell.

Irene was one of these women. She remembers her last day of freedom very clearly. They had grabbed her as she made her way through the streets of the city. She was brought to the prison, the hell hole she was currently in. They took her phone and anything valuable she had on. She could really care less about those things, but her freedom was a different matter. Irene had fought hard to get away. She did everything in her power to escape them. In the end, all it took were two strong men to overpower her. The dominatrix had been beaten. Many times she had tried to escape, but her efforts were futile as she could not over power the terrorists that guarded the prison.

Irene had lost track of how long she had been imprisoned here. She was certain it had been at least a few months, maybe more? She wasn't sure. If she looked into a mirror, Irene would not have recognized the woman she had become. Her ribs and bones stuck out prominently against her pale skin, her face was gaunt, she had dark shadows under her eyes, her long hair was a tangled mess, and she was filthy and miserable. She was not the same woman who once held the power to control the British Nation in the palm of her hand. She tried her best to stay strong. She didn't let the guards see how afraid she was of them. She kept her emotions hidden and wore of mask of fierceness and determination. Irene was not the type of woman to just give up and cower in fear and misery. She would get out of here…somehow…someway…even if it meant she would have to die trying.

Tonight, Irene was sitting in the corner of the cell surrounded by her sleeping cell-mates. Like all the other women, she wore what was called a shalwar kameez, which was a pair of black baggy trousers and a loose long sleeved tunic. A cloth belt was tired around their waist to complete the outfit. Also, all the women wore a hijab, which was cloth that wrapped around their shoulders, covering their head also. Her attire was not ideal for the heat during the daytime, but she had no other clothes to wear. They had taken her other clothes she had arrived in. Unfortunately, the shalwar kameez did not help keep the cold away at night either.

Often times, during the night, Irene would close her eyes and try to imagine herself someplace else; or she imagined being someone else. She imagined the comforts of home, hot showers, warm delicious food, and a soft warm bed to sleep in. Thinking of the comforting things made her forget her current situation, and she would fall asleep dreaming of those small comforts. Instead, Irene had a dirty prison cell, her food was small and pathetic and tasted terrible, and her bed was a cold stone floor in the corner of the cell. Once a week, the guards would allow the women to bathe in the filthy river that ran through the prison grounds. They were not offered any privacy due to the previous escape attempts. Normally, Irene was not shy about nakedness, and her previous job required a low sense of modesty. In the circumstance she found herself in now had changed that. She did not like how the guards watched as she bathed, or the smug look on their face.

As of right now, Irene was currently imagining being wrapped in a silky robe beside a roaring fireplace. She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching. A torches ray of light illuminated the darkness as a man emerged in front of the cell door. Irene recognized that mad as one of the guards, but this one in particular was the one who had initially kidnapped her from the streets and helped over power her. This guard had taken a special interest in Irene, not that she encouraged it; she hated this man. Any chance he could get, he would harass and bully her.

She tried to stay away from him as best as she could. She didn't like that look on his face when he looked at her. It was almost seemed that he desired her in a lustful way. She stared back at him with an angry intense glare. This night time meeting usually lasted a few minutes and then the man would smile and walk away, taking the torch light with him.

Irene sighed in relief when he was gone. She tried to get herself to take deep breaths to calm her and lower her heart rate. Fear, an emotion she had not been accustomed to until she ended up in this place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Irene had fallen asleep many hours later. In her state of sleep, she had begun to dream. She found herself in a familiar looking flat. It was dark, but a warm orange glow from the fireplace illuminated the cozy living room. On the mantelpiece was a human skull she had recognized. A violin was occupying one of the armchairs, there were papers and empty mugs scattered around the room, and one of the walls had bullet holes shaped into a smiley face then spray-painted yellow.

Irene knew where she was at. It was 221B on Baker Street. She felt a rush of emotions upon this realization. She felt happiness and comfort in this small flat.

However, Irene was more interested in finding out where the consulting detective was. She walked through the kitchen and didn't see him in there. However, she did find a tall glass of ice water on the table. She could see the condensation on the glass and instantly, she remembered how thirsty she was. She put her search for the detective on pause and grabbed the glass of water and began to drink it. The cold water made her shiver, but she didn't care, all she worried about was getting more water. She drank it quickly, expecting to have the glass emptied in mere seconds, but it never did lose its liquid content. It felt so good to continue to gulp down the water that she continued to do so for a few minutes.

Irene realized she had to continue her search, so she put the glass down and found herself walking down a narrow hallway. She opened the first door and didn't see the person she was looking for, so she continued her search. The next door was already open and she saw it was the bathroom. Irene noticed the shower and almost stopped her search again for a quick wash, but she decided to finish with her search. She would come back to it later after she had found him. The thought of being clean once again filled her with excitement and joy. How she had missed the simple things in life.

Exiting the bathroom, she passed the hallway closet and finally arrived to the last door. He must be in here. Irene placed her hand on the door handle and slowly opened it. Walking inside his bedroom, she looked around and noticed that it too was empty. Irene's emotions had suddenly gone from excitement to sadness. The consulting detective was not here. Disappointment filled Irene and she felt her throat tighten and her eyes prickle. She had been looking forward to seeing him again. She had really wanted to see his face and hear his low comforting voice, and maybe bury herself in his arms and never leave.

Irene was never one to shed tears of sorrow or self-pity, but now she felt the water works roll down her face and she had to choke back a sob. She walked over to his inviting queen sized bed. She had crawled underneath the sheets and thin blanket and buried her face in the pillow. She gave up on trying not to cry, and a few sobs had escaped and shook her body, but it felt good to cry. It felt good to take off the mask and let her sadness and tears loose.

His bedroom was exactly how she remembered it. There was a framed poster of the periodic table on the wall which had the same simple green and tan wallpaper. The window with the tan colored curtains pulled closed. His wardrobe, his two bookshelves, and his armchair, and dresser were all the same. Irene reluctantly got out of his warm soft bed with thoughts of that warm shower in her mind. She got undressed and put on his silky blue dressing gown. She enjoyed the feeling of the silk on her bare skin for a moment before she walked over to the window. She wanted to look out at Baker Street below, but when she pulled back the curtain…it was not London she saw. Outside the window, she saw the long sandy dessert. ; The same dessert that she had seen from her prison cell. Only this time, she saw a figure walking in the distance. The person was too far away to get an identity. Hope rose with in her again when the person got closer. She saw it was a tall man with curly black hair. Once she got a look at those cheekbones, Irene knew who it was. It was her consulting detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Irene woke up with a startled gasp as she heard a loud banging noise on the metal cell bar. She looked up and noticed morning had come. The sun's rays peaked through the barred window of her cell confirming the time of day. Irene took a moment to think back on her dream before she got in line for the pathetic breakfast the prisoners were to be fed. She felt suddenly very annoyed at the guard for waking her up, just when she was about to finally see Mr. Holmes again. She wiped her face from the tears that had nearly dried during her sleep.

She was so close to seeing him. She had felt so happy and excited in her dream, and also just like her dream, Irene felt disappointment again at having the chance taken away from her once again. Nevertheless, it had been a good dream, despite the sadness of not seeing him, but it had been nice to walk through his flat once again and to be cuddled in his bed again. It put a powerful sense of longing in her to be there right now.

"Haya!" Shouted one of the guards, distracting her from her thoughts. She chose to ignore the guard, thinking it was not directed at her. She heard him shout again and this time she turned around and faced him. It was the guard that was watching her last night. In the daylight, she could see him more clearly now. He was a tall beefy brute with dark skin. He had a long ugly scar that went from his left eye down to his jaw; giving him a wild savage appearance.

He looked at her with the same look he had on last night. He approached the bars and the other women cowered back against the wall when he came closer. Irene was already sitting by the wall, but she didn't move or change the cold angry glare on her face either.

The man spoke something in his native language that Irene didn't understand. Urdu or something like that was the common main language in Karachi. After the man finished speaking, he looked at Irene with a smug smile on his face and then he started laughing. Irene continued her with her fierce angry glare, trying to show this imbecile she wasn't afraid. The man spoke something else to his fellow guards and pointed at Irene. All the men started in fits of laughter and sniggering looks as the other two now directed their attention at Irene. Irene obviously stood out against her cellmates who were all darker skinned and large brown eyes. Irene was a complete opposite with her pale skin and blue eyes, her English back round definitely showed.

The tall guard who had been talking to her, extended his arm through the bars towards Irene, the other women whimpered and shrunk back, some hiding their faces. The man beckoned Irene like he would if he was beckoning a dog; he even whistled and snapped his fingers at her.

This only enraged Irene further and she remained where she was and looked away, choosing to ignore them. The other guards lost interest in the very cross woman and picked up the leftovers from breakfast and prepared to leave, but the tall guard stopped them and grabbed a portion of the breakfast, which was a bowl of oatmeal with some kind of meat in it. Once the tall guard had the bowl, the other guards left while sniggering away. The tall guard walked back to the bars and extended the food out to Irene. He spoke again and offered her the food. Irene knew she had to eat the vile stuff to stay alive, but there was no way she was going to accept it from the hands of that man. It would involve her having to approach the idiot. Also, it meant she would have to get close to him where he could possibly grab at her. The man whistled at her again.

Irene didn't move from her position, and didn't remove her glare. She directed her eye contact the ground momentarily, nonverbally communicating she would accept it if he put it on the ground. The guard seemed to understand and he placed the bowl on the ground and shoved the bowl across the stone floor towards Irene using the end of shovel. Irene visually measured it to be about three feet away from the guard, and was a safe distance to be at without the guard being able to touch or grab at her. She stood up from her spot, the other women watched her carefully, as Irene walked forward and retrieved the bowl of oatmeal and walked back to her spot. She set down the food and waited for the guard to go away before she ate.

The guard spoke at her again, his tone conversational, but he received no response from the English woman whom stared back at him with this time an uninterested/bored look. She was trying to display her lack of involvement in any interaction, so she opted to look away again.

The guard laughed again, throwing back his head as his laughs echoed through the cell. The other women whimpered again in fear, but Irene remained to ignore him. The guard spoke something again and walked away, leaving the women to sigh in relief once he had gone. Irene stared at the place the guard had stood. He had not tried to hand her the food before. Usually there was a line that the women formed to receive their food from the short overweight guard who was presumably the cook. But this time, the tall guard had given the food specifically to her. Why the sudden change?

Irene chose to not think about it. She dismissed the act as the guard's way of getting her to focus her attention directly on him. She picked up her bowl and saw that her portion was incredibly large. It was big enough to feed two large men. Irene shrugged at her good fortune and ate what she could, she made sure to not eat too much and make herself sick. When she had eaten all she could, she noticed she still had over half a bowl. Irene looked around at her fellow cell mates; she stood up and walked over to them.

There were eight other women who shared the cell with Irene. All of them were nearly middle aged. Two of them were a bit younger around Irene's age. They all had long black hair tucked behind their hijab and large, round brown eyes. Irene approached them, and placed a gentle smile on her face.

The women looked with friendly curiosity at the younger Englishwoman. Irene offered her left over breakfast to the women. She extended it out to them, nodding for them to accept it. There was a lot left over, and there was definitely enough for each woman to have another small portion. The eldest woman stood up and met Irene. She had a warm gentle face. Her winkles showed her age, but her eyes showed her gentleness. The elder woman tried to have Irene keep the food, the woman patted Irene's abdomen slightly and pointed to the food and back to Irene.

Irene laughed quietly and shook her head. Irene placed her hand and her stomach patted it; trying to communicate that she was full. To help them better understand, Irene stuck out her tongue and acted like she would vomit, a way to tell the woman she would get sick if she ate anymore.

All eight women laughed at Irene's display. It was the first time she had seen everybody all laughing and smiling despite the circumstances they were in. Irene smiled and laughed with them. The sight and sound of human laughter made her feel increasingly happy. She had missed this feeling.

The elder woman smiled and nodded her understanding. She motioned to the food and spoke something in her native language. Irene suspected it was a thank you she had said. Irene bowed her head and gave them all a grin, "You are welcome." She knew they couldn't understand her, but she felt it was only polite to reply verbally. Irene turned to go back to her corner when she felt a soft hand on her shoulder.

The elderly woman had motioned for Irene to come and join them in their group. Irene smiled and nodded her acceptance.

All nine women sat in a circle on the floor. Irene watched as they communicated and passed around her left over oatmeal. She couldn't put much input to their conversations, but her cell-mates would often times acknowledge Irene. The woman seated beside her pointed to the blue sky outside their barred window then back to Irene's blue eyes. The woman spoke with an animated tone and Irene figured out that she was commenting on Irene's blue eyes and comparing them to the color of the sky. Irene replied with an amused grin and nodded her head in understanding. Irene pointed to the brown wooden bowl that had been used for breakfast and pointed at the woman's warm brown eyes. In return, the woman giggled and nodded her head the same way Irene had.

That was how Irene communicated with her cell-mates that morning. It wasn't much, but it was the human interaction that was what she cared about. It made her forget her disappointment about not getting to see or interact with Mr. Holmes last night in her dream.

**Author's Note: Please let me know your thoughts about the story. If there is anything that you feel need's improving please review. Thank you for reading!**


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